Avoiding Treatment
by 009
Summary: James Bond is infamous for blowing stuff up, never ever returning his equipment and seducing women, but he is also infamous for avoiding Medical until he is outright unconsious. When the new massage therapist called Quillian shows up, how will he succeed to tame such a man? AU where Q isn't exactly Q. A character study in why Bond is so utterly stubborn!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Bond movies or books.

This is an AU character study of Bond, where Q is a massage therapist called Quillian, and Bond is just the same stubborn bastard he always is.

* * *

James Bond had successfully avoided Medical and their injunctions against him for months now. He had been injured a a lot recently; stabbed a few weeks ago as well as shot twice and tortured five times in six months. He just wanted some peace and quiet after all of that, was that too much to ask for? Apparently, it was.

Now the double agent found himself being forcibly restrained (it took six or eight people, he wasn't, after all, actively counting them considering the circumstances, all of them experts in the field) and tightly tied to a massage table. He assumed he would have known why, had he not refused to read any and all notes Medical sent him.

He looked up as much as he was able (which honestly wasn't much in his position) as someone with much softer steps, compared to agents and security, entered. It was a young man with unruly dark hair, his clothing hinting at that he was perhaps tied to medical; definitely not a field agent.

The young man entered with a raised eyebrow, speaking quietly to the agents by the door before going towards Bond, introducing himself as his massage therapist, Quillian Trevor.

Knowing that there was no way even he could get out of this, and he'd be damned if he'd cooperate with such high-handed measures as capturing him, Bond tensed his muscles minutely and let his thoughts drift into a neutral space, same as he would during torture.

The young man, Quillian, apparently, did not seem to be surprised by this. He had been briefed on what to expect, and this was not his first double oh, either. He started out by gently feeling across the well-defined muscles of 007's back, noting their deliberate but subtle tension, and holding back a sigh. This was going to be tricky, and energy-consuming, and frustrating, on his part; and likely highly painful for his clearly unwilling patient.

Bond had several minutes of careful movements and the younger man judging his muscle damage to prepare himself mentally, as well as several kind-hearted warnings, all spoken with a soft tone of voice; about how it'd really be much easier on both of them if he relaxed. Even then, he was surprised at how much it hurt. His muscles clearly weren't in the greatest of shape, when it came to knots and rehabilitation. "Holy moly," the massage therapist's voice made Bond look up again, many agonizing minutes later.

"Something wrong?" Bond would never admit it, but he prided himself on how unaffected he sounded at this point.

The man merely shook his head, his expression slightly disbelieving. "No. No, I just haven't seen..." the young man cut himself short, then smiled, cupping some mucles between Bond's shoulders gently instead to demonstrate what he meant, "these muscle groups, here, like yours before. I cannot work through them while you're this tense. I mean, I see that often with biceps, triceps, that kind of thing, rock solid, really, but never with these shoulder muscle groups," the massage therapist shrugged again. "You clearly put your body through things my usual patients doesn't do."

"It would seem like it." Bond held back a wince and turned his head away again. It really was getting excruciating, as those strong hands attacked his muscles. He tensed some more against the pain and tried to hold back a hiss. He succeeded. He was, after all, a professional.

Bond was letting a shudder through in fatigue not ten minutes later, and felt relief as those strong, painful hands stilled. He would almost want to ask what it was the man did just below his injured shoulder; the agent was sure it could be used in interrogation.

"You're tiring." The younger man noted. "And I am not through, not by a long shot." Bond sighed internally to hear that. "We could make a deal, you know. I don't enjoy torturing you, and this isn't necessary."

"No? What do you propose, then?" Much as he was loathed to admit it, making it stop was starting to sound attractive.

"Don't make me continue with these muscles today; you soon cannot take it anymore, I can tell, and then have them drag you back here in a few weeks or a month. Come next week, for your actual appointment. Stop fighting me. I can make this much nicer, you know."

"Oh?" Bond quipped back in a sceptical voice, only to the next moment be flooded with an intense sensation of pleasure, innocent, yes, but strong, from something Quillian did with his hands.

"Quite," the man confirmed. "What about I help you relax a bit, ease up the muscles for you; you simply must be closing in on cramps by now, and we'll see each other again next week? It won't be nearly as painful if you cooperate, you know. And I always prefer to work on a willing victim." Bond turned around, studied the young face, which was smiling, not unkindly, at him and then he nodded.

The next few minutes were as relaxing and unthreatening as the previous half-hour had been trying and painful. Quillian was taking great care to soothe and work through some smaller knots, not even coming close to the injured or painful areas again, and James found himself closing his eyes, finally, knowing that there was no direct threat here; and finding himself actually liking it, there was no reason not to indulge a bit, and relax.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Bond movies or books.

This is Q trying to get into Bond's head. And muscles.

* * *

The next week, Bond was already sitting there as Quillian entered. The older man looked wary, but he much preferred not to work on somebody restrained. "Remove your shirt and lay down." He smiled gently, trying to reassure the agent in front of him.

Nodding, the double oh did as he was told, though it clearly was with some pain at the movement. Not unexpected, judging by how many fresh scars there were and what his instinctive reaction to care had been.

A moment later, as he felt Quillian trying to shift his position slightly, James submitted soundlessly, cooperating with the slight change and allowing the younger man to manipulate his body. As those skilled hands lay heated towels on his back and gently tried to coax him into relaxation, 007 only hesitated for a moment before he gave in, though he did not close his eyes just yet. He had no real reason to be suspicious, but old habits die hard.

Once the younger man removed the towel from a part of his back to start the massage, Bond immediately noticed that his hands touched differently today; more softly, yet still with great purpose. Quillian did not chose to start with his largely painful shoulder area, but instead began by warming his muscles further and touching his back and neck, almost in comfort. 007 soon found himself rather enjoying it.

As the massage progressed, the younger man warned him before any painful parts and spent a lot of time working out small kinks in the muscles in between the real problem areas. The young massage therapist smiled contentedly for himself when the tense agent, whatever his real status actually was, beneath his fingers soon fully gave in; closing his eyes again and stopped fighting with him even on a subconsious plane. When the muscular man actually made a soft sound; a sort of sigh of enjoyment, Quillian felt very accomplished indeed. It was not easy to get this man to open up, even this little bit, after all.

Half an hour into the session, when Bond's muscles were properly heated; Quillian started with a healed wound presumably from a knife. It was located at his side; the area full of muscle tension and bad knots. After first warning Bond what he was about to do, advising him to relax as much as possible; he got to work. Despite his advice, he was surprised to find that the man actually managed to stay at ease; clearly, he was not afraid of the pain. Could it really be pure stubbornness which kept him from letting himself be treated, or was it something else entirely?

Perhaps, the massage therapist noted for himself as he teased out the first sore spot and moved on to the next, making sure to give his patient a moment to breathe in between, it was trust issues. He didn't seem to be sure how to let go and give in, but finally he had allowed Quillian to help, at least.

Finally letting the agent up after an hour, he was satisfied to notice how the man moved more smoothly. Bond, too, seemed alright with it, judging by how he did not seem to mind promising to return for his next appointment.

A week later, at their third meeting, Quillian found to his satisfaction that the older man didn't even hesitate before he obliged and lay down, shirt off; not looking at him in that ever vigilant, almost suspicious way this time, eyes following every move seemingly without blinking. Instead, while he was still watching, those electric blue eyes appeared almost lazy.

This the third session, the agent let himself relax from the start, apparently not caring to fight him any longer. Q went through all of the man's injuries, making good progress; until he reached for the right arm of the man, gently but firmly lifting to expose the muscles otherwise hidden beneath other muscles.

And he really shouldn't have done that, apparently.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Bond movies or books.

* * *

Quillian breathed hastily, but with difficulty, pressed down into the massage table with strong, lethal hands. The voice above him was calm though, and he managed to draw enough breath to speak when he realised that it held only question, no threat. "I needed to move your arm to get at the muscles in the middle of the back. That's the easiest way of doing it," he could hear himself that his voice was a little too high. "I didn't mean to... upset you!"

He felt the, in this position rather frightening, other man shift him a little, mimicking his actions from before, pulling his arm up. The massage therapist tensed at that, but the grip never became painful; and the agent then felt across the set of muscles Quillian had tried to get to. The younger man relaxed minutely when he realised that was all he was doing.

Then, quite suddenly, the agent let him go with an almost apologetic smile. "I'm sorry - it's an occupational hazard, being a little bit touchy. The next time you need to grab my arm or, for that matter, touch my neck or throat, give me some warning." Seeing that the younger man still didn't want to move closer again, he promised, at least it felt like a promise, for both of them. "I am not going to hurt you, I promise. You don't need to be scared."

"Suddenly I find myself grateful that you were restrained the first time," Quillian muttered, making his patient smile, and went back to his work, this time warning his patient that he would need to move his arm to reach. Despite being incredibly much stronger, the older man did nothing to hold back, but obeyed immediately, helpfully even, eyes closing again. Quillian made a mental note to always make sure to communicate his intentions in the future.

It was after the massage, and he was proud to say that the previously so tense man was close to falling asleep under the blanket he had put around him after the massage, to let him to come to in his own time, that Quillian rose to answer a knock on the door. He stepped out of the room, not wanting to disturb the man when he had finally managed to relax. He recognised Tanner from, what was it, accounting?

"Mr Trevor," the man greeted him with a polite half-smile.

"Mr Tanner. How can I help you?" Quillian asked, curious as to why the man was there.

"We haven't been able to find agent 007 for your appointment. This is not unusual; he tends to avoid these things. How long do you judge he can avoid it for before the progress you've made is undone?"

Surprised, Quillian blinked. "Mr Tanner, have you thought about looking for your missing agent in the obvious place?" Upon recieving nothing but a blank look, he continued; "where he is meant to be?" and he opened the door, letting the other man look inside, trying to suppress a smile as Tanner looked completely taken aback. "I think we have the situation under control," Quillian finished, gave the man a smile and walked back into his office, closing the door between him and the surprised accountant softly.

Smiling for himself, Quillian was taken back by Bond's amused voice. "Why do I feel like that was a personal victory for you?"

Chuckling, Quillian turned towards his patient. "I get protective about my patients. And I like being able to help someone surprise people who take things for granted." He sat down in his desk chair. "How does your back feel? Better?" Slowly, Bond nodded in responce.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Bond movies or books.

Warnings: slight mentions of violence on the job. Canon Bond style.

* * *

It was about a year after Quillian had first started to treat the double oh, and he had returned periodically when called because of injury, as well as coming regularly every month except when called away, that he turned up at his office, knocking at the door. "Do you have some time?"

Looking up, Quillian blinked in surprise. While Bond always came when ordered to, these days, (to him, anyway, the man was seemingly just as hard to catch for the rest of Medical as ever) he had never just showed up on his own accord before. He gestured the man in. "Of course. May I help you?"

"I took a six feet tumble three days ago, during a mission. After a fight," the agent grimaced slightly. "My arm has felt sore ever since, and the shoulder joint is stiff. Would you mind to take a look?"

Quillian had risen before the man was through talking, gesturing for him to sit down and remove his jacket, which he did, and moving up next to him to assess the injury. "Yes, you have a bad muscle knot there. I can work it out for you, if you want." Upon receiving a nod, he continued with approval. "It was good of you to come see me right away; it is much easier to fix now than it would have been in a few weeks time from now."

Bond merely shrugged at the comment, obligingly turning his head and allowing the other man to gently pull off his shirt and help him sort out his injured muscles, sighing in relief as the massage therapist managed to work out the knot. "How come you're, you know, here? Voluntarily."

"You don't fuss. Or make a scene. And it hurts less once you're through." Already, the agent's shrug was more elegant and carefree, and his movements less pained.

"Glad I could help," Q smiled, taking pride in making even his most recalcitrant patients feel safe at his practise. It was good to know he was seen as helpful, even by usually complete anti-medics like Bond. "You know, you haven't been in here for a few weeks now. I could go through you properly, if you've got the time."

"I've got nowhere special to be; I am hiding from Medical." Bond stated, lying down on the massage table without being prompted, more than used to the rutine by now.

"You're _in_ Medical, technically," Q pointed out, grabbing some massage oil and fondly shaking his head.

"Doesn't count," James decided, closing his eyes and sighing in relief as his friend worked out his abused muscles. "Just makes it the perfect hiding place." It was not long, before he had fallen asleep. Because he might be a man with raging, and in many ways actually rather rational, trust issues, but he trusted Q.


End file.
